Consumption
by That White Shadow
Summary: His love for them consumed him. His rage after he left -gone- consumed him. His loss consumed him, eating him alive. They were all consumed by their demons - never to be free again. Heavily implied Yaoi. One-shot. Mature themes described - you're warned.


**So these are short moments scattered and I've tried to differentiate the different 'short stories' (for a better word) and I know some of the stories are lacking in description to what is actually happening, I tried to link them together but those were the small moments I suffered from writers block. (Also Sasori is OOC, he knows how to fight but is not the puppeteer or from the sand village, I've tried to keep the other characters as true to themselves, I hope I have but I'm pretty sure I've strayed slights, please let me know). So this was written at 2am – I woke up super inspired so forgive me if there are mistakes, I looked over and fixed a majority of the mistakes but I wouldn't be surprised if there is more. I'm purely posting this because I'd like your opinion on not only the plot line but on the writing itself. Any feedback, negative or positive is widely appreciated.**

 **Cheers – and enjoy.**

* * *

He was scared, _so_ scared the darkness –it engulfed him, swallowed him whole and held onto him tight, never letting go, spinning him around and around in the never ending abyss and it never stopped no matter his begging and crying it spun and spun and crooned mockingly into his ears- it was gone. But why –after so long- had it gone? Swirling around and around without a care (he felt nothing) and yet here he lay.

* * *

His senses came to him quickly. He lay on a ground – a burning ground that stunk of charcoal and rumbled with ever shift of the beast near him. There were yells –deafening yells, heartbroken yells- and roars from beyond the purple barrier. He could hear them but he felt nothing –he'd felt nothing for so long- except for the harsh breaths that fell from this lips for the first time in decades. The beast he lay near to, large stomach brushed against his still form and he yearned to hold onto the warmth it emitted and suckle onto the powerful charka –like a babe to a mother's breast- and feel whole once again.

* * *

The border that surrounded the wrangled beast was huge. He had discerned he was on a battle field –it had being so long since he lay on the ground of death, anguish of fallen comrades thick in the air, the blood that mixed with the dirt – crusting his hands and the enemies- surrounding the beast and _him._ As he stumbled –walking once again, on the earth like he had hoped for so long- towards the edge, away from the beast and the purple walls that kept him –them- trapped together seemed to clear as he grew closer. Huge figures surrounded the massive border, deformed to an extent he couldn't distinguish what exactly the monsters were –so many people lost, dead or alive, wandering soullessly, scarred beyond recognition stumbling back into the village- but he could see people –like him- fighting and falling to the creatures.

* * *

The horror that filled his body –he had felt this before, lying on his death bed with no one there(all alone), knowing they'd find him and he couldn't say goodbye or tell them how close he held them to his heart, what he _felt_ for- matched the expression of the man on the other side of the semi-transparent wall.

"Hashirama?" The name tumbled from his parted lips –the voice sounded so foreign, so hoarse like he hadn't talk in years (which was true)- the man in turn, dark eyes falling on the windblown red hair, the thin scar on his right eye –marring his beautiful face. He remembered that day (oh _so so_ well), brushing his red hair from his face, running his dirty thumb gently across the raw and inflamed flesh and his heart constricted when _he_ flinched away- and in a fluid moment he was stalking towards the rocky cliff –he didn't care that he was wide open, an invitation for any enemy- because this was a blow that _he_ –Madara- knew would hurt him more than anything else.

"How dare you torment me with him! Madara, he was put to rest long ago –why did he leave him, _them_ \- don't taint his memory!" he roared –his breath caught in his throat as he realized he wasn't breathing and he tried _oh_ he tried but he was _gone-_ but the look of shock that the now elderly Madara wore as his eyes landed on the familiar face, Hashirama realized that Madara would never stoop that low –to do that to _him_ , to his memory, his _love-_ to harm him in anyway -the gut wrenching agony that slowly ate him inside and out, day by day, night by night- .

* * *

He was pressed up against the glass, his trembling hands on the wall as if he could push it –but he was weak so weak and he cursed himself for being so weak- and Hashirama was there in front of him once again with hooded eyes that had lost the light they held so long ago –he remembered that light, it shone so bright- he was older and he gently –amidst the chaos of the battle- placed his hand on the wall, eyes never leaving his –the love rushed over him, much like the first time he realised his true feelings washing over him, the safety and the _warmth-_ and he raised his shaking and on the other side. He could feel the warmth from his hand and it had being _decades_ since he held him in his arms –oh how he missed him so much. He was _so_ close yet so far away- and much like the other time before it was him and only _him_ he could see. Not the past Hokage's and his clones that held the barrier separating them, or the heavy eyes tingling on the back of his neck –Madara's shocked gaze- burning through his soul to see _him._ The explosion drew him from _their_ bubble –an eternity they could live forever- and as he retreated back beside his brother, arm falling limply, he left him once again –his eyes never left his, it would be okay-.

* * *

Tobirama knew who the boy was immediately. Although he wasn't the closest to his brother, he knew –way back when the world was pure instead of the darkness that now consumed it- that his brother cared deeply for someone who was not his wife (Mito knew who it was, but would tell none). It was a day like any other when his brother returned from his royal adventures –he never told anyone what he did- and the bright light in his eyes had dimmed and the horror that washed over him as he realised that something had happened –his brother was okay physically but inside he was being tormented by a battle that raged inside him-. He watched it –it consumed him inside and out and Tobirama tried so hard to help him- as it slowly ate his brother –his kin, his blood, his family, the one who protected him from the monsters in the dark- inside and out, peeling him down to nothing but a shell of a man who once stood talk and proud with gleaming eyes –it was the light in the darkness and he watched in dismay as it slowly faded to nothing but empty depths that stared back at him- and it was a godsend when he watched him _fall._

The war had been hard and the village was struggling and the final battle his brother fought –his stupid but loved big brother- who was now just another broken soldier –war tore even the toughest of people down to nothing but a pile of leaves- so when his brother charged headfirst into the battle he wasn't surprised. And as the bloody battle came to an end, he cradled his brother close to his chest –he stared up the cloudless sky and smiled a bloody smile before the dull light finally faded from existence-. And in those moment that Hashirama retreated to his side –like many times before, many battles before- Tobirama made his decision –he would do anything for his brother- he lowered his arms and the barrier that separated the boy and everyone shattered, falling into little crystal-like shards that danced slowly to the ground –I love you brother, no matter what-

* * *

He stumbled as the wall that had being supporting him broke and he lurched forward, spilling to the ground. In the few seconds it took to actually register he was free –finally after so long he was free once again- he was limping towards _him –_ the dirt between his toes felt so foreign and yet so warm-. They met halfway and he practically fell into the older man's chest. It had being so long since he had touched him, inhaled his musky perfume that faintly (after all these years) smelt like peppermints-. The arms that encased him however weren't the arms that held him those nights long ago, they were longer, bigger, older. The scars he could feel through the flimsy pieces of fabric they both wore had never been there before –he had seen so many battles, comrades fallen, blood spilled whilst he was gone- and he couldn't help the sob that escaped his broken lips. The gut wrenching despair that he had left him _–them-_ to face the cruelness this world held all alone rivalled the love surrounding him –to be in his arms once again-the broken sobs didn't stop as he pressed himself closer to Hashirama. He was sorry, _so, so,_ sorry he didn't say goodbye. He loved them so much it hurt and he could barely explain the rush of emotions he felt every time he saw their beautiful –now broken- faces. He felt Hashirama's warm tears fall down his neck.

~*~ (This is going back – way back.)

Madara had gone to check the empty treehouse. He knew –deep, deep, down he knew what had conspired but he _refused_ to believe it- that something was wrong that he could be lying in a ditch and yet here he sat at a smooth table debating the village's safety. He confronted Hashirama after the meeting, pulling the man loosely by his wrist who followed obediently into the Hokage's private quarters. And as his name fell from his lips he watched as the once proud man –now broken- grew stiff and his eyes grew hard and that was all he needed to know –the rage he felt consumed him, nothing could describe the hatred he felt towards the Senju (how _dare_ he not tell him) the few who he finally began to trust (his fragile trust) shattered in a few seconds- . He left as soon as he could, it was suffering, eating him like a disease and it _wouldn't_ stop tormenting him. And he _tried, (oh he tried)_ to stop the thoughts that plagued his mind, to take a hold of the rage, the grief eating him but he _couldn't_. And there was nothing he could do.

As he traveled and he slowly started losing his mind, his thoughts they weren't his _own._ And all he could focus on was _him._ He would reunite them and they would be together once again no matter what –the few times he felt such warmth, staring at the sky watching the days go by and the frail hand pointing wonderlessly to the clouds- such simples things bought joy to the boy's life and he cursed him for leaving _him._ He scoured the lands for years, researching ruthlessly -he didn't care who he took down in the way, they would be together once again- and yet death still kept them apart, mocking him in every way. And the grief –the thoughts- that consumed him he soon channeled to rage –the same hot uncontrollable burning rage he had not felt in years- he sought other ways to control his uncontrollable life – which was now in shambles, leaving a broken man in its waste-.

* * *

He lay in the treehouse –his treehouse he built years ago and had lived in ever since- cocooned in the expensive linens they had spoilt him with over the years. His skin was paler then usual –giving off a deathly dull grey, covered in a layer of sweat which in his fever induced mind he found ironic because he couldn't stop shivering. He was aware enough to realise that his breathing – it was slowly slowing and becoming shallower and he couldn't help the despair that flooded him. He was going to die –they hadn't visited him often the past few months, only every week or so and he started to feel.. _alone-_ but he could never hate them for it. His only regret that he could not say goodbye. Or see their smiles once more, or run his hand through their hair or breathe into their ears telling them –he sometimes wished he could tell the whole world- what they meant to him, how close he treasured them, how dear he held them to his heart. His breaths were now in short gasps and a dull panic set through his rapidly numbing body –he wanted to see the sun rise once more, to have the warmth on his face and the wind in his hair and hear their voices _one last time-_. In the final seconds before his heart stopped beating- one final fleeting thought (you'll be okay) and with that Sasori died all alone, in a little treehouse in the middle of nowhere. Hashirama found his lovers body three days later –and a large part of Hashirama died too-.

 **Welp there is the story.**

 **Thank you for reading** **.**


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